


A Fracture In Time

by Victoria_Grantt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Being Lost, Case Fic, Desperate Building, Dumb cops, Evil, Evil Building, Explosives, FBI Agent Castiel, FBI Agent Dean Winchester, FBI Agent Sam Winchester, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Kidnapping, Lost Love, M/M, Mental Institutions, No Sex, No Smut, Non-Consensual Drug Use, References to Drugs, Research, Researching Sam Winchester, Time Travel, haunted hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 07:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16593659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victoria_Grantt/pseuds/Victoria_Grantt
Summary: A lady in Black coupled with missing hikers intrigue Dean, Cas, and Sam. When they discover some of the hikers have returned, and claimed to have traveled in time, they know they have a case.





	A Fracture In Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PetrichorPerfume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrichorPerfume/gifts).



> My words died nearly three years ago when my mother became terminally ill. This is the first thing I’ve written longer than a birthday card since that time. The one person who has consoled me and held my hand through this first writing attempt in years is PetrichorPerfume. To her, I owe my gratitude and thanks. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to thank her enough as she has given me back my words. It’s such a joy to be writing again. I would ask all of you who read this to please be kind as I am out of practice.
> 
> I also thank PetrichorPerfume for her beta duties. Any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone. I also thank the people who read my prologue and decided that it could be the beginning of a story. It was and my gratitude is large.
> 
> I would like to thank Ms. C, who told me the story of the Woman in Black and sparked an idea that needed to be set free.
> 
> I would also like to thank the second Ms. C, who never fails to have a smile on her face. She brings joy to all who meet her and I’m no exception.
> 
> I have taken many liberties with time lines for Maine and if you live there, my apologies. I have also taken liberties with canon, in that I’ve completely ignored it to suit myself.

### Prologue: 1843, Allagash, Maine

Gray Stone Hospital was large. So large that one would need a brisk fifteen-minute walk to view the whole of the building. Set several miles into in heavily forested woodland, there was but one narrow road leading up to it. The path was barely large enough to handle a team of horses and a transport wagon. The hard packed dirt trail was roughly pitted and often littered with fallen trees. Over the years the road smoothed out, which was much appreciated by the men driving the transport wagons. None of them liked to linger near the Hospital. The screaming from within was always chilling no matter the time of year. And there were always screams, interspersed with the sounds of weeping, wailing, and moaning.

The wooded area was so densely packed with trees it allowed only thin streams of sunlight to penetrate the canopy. Gray Stone got more sunlight due the removal of many trees, but the atmosphere surrounding it was nevertheless gloomy and barren. Over time, as the trees began growing back, the elegant gray stones of the hospital darkened and became moss covered. The beautiful gardens that were at first tenderly tended soon withered. Atop the hard-packed Earth of the Hospital’s gardens and grounds the area was always slightly muddy and slippery due to layers of rotting leaves in various states of decay. Grass seeds blown in on the wind were never quite able to take root on the property, and the sodden ground was the color of burnt sienna, taking on a more riotous palate of colors only in autumn when the leaves began to spiral their way downwards. 

It made escape from inside the hospital all but impossible as the moss was constantly slick and impossible to grab hold of. The rotting, foul smelling leaves ensured one would slip and fall. Crawling would mean sticking one’s hands into the stinking decay, even if nothing but weird, oddly shaped mushrooms lived atop the leaves. Beneath the layer of leaves and mushrooms, there was no life, but the feeling of bugs creeping over a body was inevitable and unavoidable. The tall wrought iron gates that surrounded the whole of the building were covered with twisting, thorny vines within twenty years. In fifty years, the vines made a solid, impenetrable wall of which only the top spikes could be seen. The once elegant entrance gate was rusted beneath the vines and no longer fully closed.

When the Hospital first opened, it was hailed as the most modern treatment medical science could offer those afflicted by insanity or poor mental health. It was thought that the beautiful building, which included every modern amenity available along with its isolated location deep in the quiet of the woods, would help patients and soon return them to health.

The nursing staff as well as the director lived within the Hospital in a separate wing. Doctors came daily, along with big burly men, most without an education. It gave the men of Allagash work in hard times as the Hospital lie a scant three miles from the village. They were there to protect the staff from out of control patients. Those men never talked about the things they did or saw during the course of a day’s work. They never talked about it with each other and each of them took their secrets to the grave.

Their wives noticed that without exception, after a year or so at the Hospital, their husbands took to drinking more than was usual. But, with the pressing need to feed the animals and clothe the children, the men worked no matter how they reacted once in the comfort of their own homes. The women and the rest of the small population simply ignored the screaming that could be heard on the ever-present wind. It was the only thing never gossiped about.

What had begun with good intentions soon morphed into a dumping ground for those rich enough to rid themselves of embarrassing relatives. Maine was far enough away from New York and Philadelphia that no one would find out unless they were unusually persistent or curious. Most people just informed their friends and extended family that their uncle or sister, wife or child was spending time in a spa in Sweden or in an exclusive military or boarding school. There was no one to gainsay what they told the world at large. And, even if it had been suspected, it was considered impolite to bring up such personal things. It was a convenient place to sequester unwanted family members, and then to forget about them.

The Hospital closed for good after the Wall Street crash in 1929, due to a lack of funds, its remote location, and the loss of so many fortunes. Those that still had money could afford to keep their secrets hidden within their large estates. There were rumors that a number of people still lived in the Hospital, but those rumors were ignored by the people in Allagash, who were as always, far too busy attempting to put food on the table and keep a roof over their heads. All they knew was that not hearing the constant and endless screaming that could be heard coming from the Hospital was relieving. And, if in the years to come, a scream should break the sleep of the townspeople on occasion, it was chalked up to bad dreams or memories.

### The Bunker: Present Day

Sam, Dean, and Castiel had been in the bunker for two weeks. Dean figured they still had another two weeks to go. On the last hunt, Sam had torn some ligaments in his leg and needed the time to recover. He’d actually gone for PT and wasn’t in any hurry to leave the petite therapist he’d met, which meant he was out of the bunker for hours each day.

Not that Dean minded. He and Castiel had been able to spend lots of quality time together without any sly remarks about interspecies sex. When they weren’t in bed, Dean was teaching his angel to cook. That gave him plenty of opportunities to touch and feed Cas and seduce him into the bedroom all over again. Good times to be sure.

Of course when Sam was home, he was always scanning the Internet and small town papers to see if there were any cases that were in their line of work. A week after he finished his PT, he announced that he’d found a case. 

“Hey, listen up, you guys. I think I’ve got a case,” he gloated as he interrupted yet another overt display of affection. He was glad for his brother and Cas, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see it. 

Dean’s attention caught, he turned to Sam. “Yeah? Let’s have it.”

“There’s actually two stories, but I think they’re related,” Sam began. “It’s from he Bangor Daily News. There’s a section called “Haunted Maine.” Apparently, some guy and his wife were driving on I-95 during a bad rainstorm. They pulled over near Allagash because the wife’s nervous about driving in the heavy downpour.

“So, they’re sitting there waiting out the rain when an old lady with loose white hair dressed all in black starts banging on the car window, screaming like a banshee,” Sam related.

“That’s not how banshees work, Sam,” Dean snarked.

“I didn’t say she was a banshee Dean; the couple, Carl and Roberta Fineman said it. Anyway, they let the woman in the car and ask her where they can take her. All she does is point into the woods. So, they start driving and their passenger is getting agitated, pointing back from where they came from and grunting. Before they’ve gone five miles, the little old lady starts to strangle Carl. Roberta picks up her thermos and starts beating up the lady, trying to get her off her husband. Carl pulls over and they force her out of the car,” Sam finished.

“What happened to the lady?” Cas asked curiously.

“They don’t know. They hightailed it out of there, drove down the road a few miles and called the cops. By the time the cops get there, the old lady is gone, and the cops are looking at the Fineman’s like they’ve lost most of their marbles. They declined to file a police report, but the story makes it out due to a talkative deputy,” Sam frowned. “They’ve since refused every interview and won’t talk to anyone about what happened.”

“Okay, I’ll give you it’s a strange story, sort of the opposite of the Lady in White stories, but if this is the first incident, I don’t know what we could do to salt and burn the old bitch,” Dean stated emphatically, putting thick chicken parm sandwiches on the table for lunch. “What’s the second story,” Dean mumbled, mouth full of delicious chicken parm.

“This one’s a little stranger in some ways,” Sam said. “I had to go back to do a lot of research, which is why I didn’t say anything before today. There’s two Bangor articles, the Lady in black is a month old, and the other one goes back three months,” Sam confessed.

“Seriously?” Dean asked with heat. “And you didn’t think you should’ve told us?”

“Like I said, there was a lot of research that I had to do before sending us on a wild goose chase,” Sam answered mildly.

“And the little therapist you’ve been schtupping had nothing to do with that?” Dean growled in frustration.

“Well,” Sam drew out the word with a slight grin, “Maybe just a little,” he confessed. 

“Lay it on us,” Dean demanded, a fond glance at Castiel eating his sandwich as neatly as possible, lightening his mood.

“Right, so get this, since the 1940’s, at least two hikers a decade disappeared near where our Lady in Black shows up. This pattern continues until the 1970’s and then nothing. Until three months ago when two hikers in their mid-twenties, Vera Abbot and Glen Sherman are reported missing after going for a hike. There was a short search, about a week, where nothing was found and the case went cold.”

Dean choked. “The case went cold after a week?”

“It’s longer than they searched for the other hikers. Those cases were closed after two or three days. The police reports all say they were likely victims of a bear attack, despite no remains being found,” Sam noted.

“At any rate, the two of them showed up a week after they stopped searching for them, scratched, bruised, filthy, starving, and at the brink of severe dehydration, claiming they’d traveled back to the past and then spent the next month trying to get back to the present.

“I’ve looked up the names of the other eight hikers and none of them except one are ever heard from again,” Sam disclosed. 

“And the one? Castiel asked with concern.

“He’s living in Bangor, on one hundred acres of land. He’s considered a hermit and has everything he needs delivered to him. The nearby residents claim they haven’t seen him since the late ‘70’s, but that’s more likely to be part of the local lore,” Sam said. “He’s refused every interview and told the Bangor Sheriff’s Office to fuck off for years when he was accused of killing his girlfriend. Since no body was ever found, it was never pursued with any kind of vigor.”

Dean stood and started clearing the table. Looks like we got a case,” he said joyfully. He was always happiest when he was working. “What say we pack tonight and be on the road by 5 AM? Bangor, the Fineman’s, or the hikers first,” Dean inquired.

“Bangor, then the Fineman’s in Portland, and then the kids who live in Allagash,” Sam said decisively.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Dean agreed, Castiel nodding his agreement as well. Sam and Dean knew the roads well enough to understand that there were at least 28 hours of straight driving ahead and that didn’t take into account eating, sleeping, bathroom breaks, or the backtracking they’d need to do. They’d be there much quicker if Dean allowed anyone near his baby, but if there was a universal truth it was that if Dean was hale, no one drove Baby but him. It was an argument that was seldom won.

~*~

Michael White’s property was fully fenced and had been allowed to grow wild, making it impossible for the Impala to travel the barely visible road. When they’d inquired at the local Sheriff’s Department, they’d been informed that if White had a phone, he hadn’t answered it in decades as far as they knew, and that his accountant paid all his bills. It didn’t matter that they presented themselves as FBI agents; the local law didn’t think they’d get to see the man, and wished them luck, laughing their asses off as the three men left.

Dean pulled the Impala close to the wooden fence as they prepared to meet from what every account said was a hostile hermit, armed to the teeth. They decided to better arm themselves with guns and knives in case the stories proved to be true. Castiel had his angel blade, so they were all as prepared as possible for any situation. They allowed Castiel to transport them a quarter of a mile near White’s home in order to save themselves a long, grueling walk through thick grass and wild bushes. 

They found Michael, lean, leathered and fit, with closely cropped steel grey hair, sitting on his well maintained porch in front of a smallish house, with a shotgun lying across his knees. “Hunters,” he growled. “Well, it’s about fucking time.”

“How do you know about hunters?” Dean demanded.

“I’ve been sittin’ here on this property since 1974, boy. I know lots of stuff,” he snarled. “I been waitin’ on some people since then. Especially since the Bangor Daily news reported on the two kids that were lost and the couple who were attacked. And I ain’t talking about those dumb motherfucking good ole boys staffing the Sheriff’s Office. What happened to me and Holly and the other hikers seemed like a job for hunters.”

“So, you’re ready to talk?” Sam asked gently.

“Hell, boy, I been ready to talk since I got back in '73,” Michael chuckled with no humor. “Just been waitin’ on the right people. Who never showed ‘til now.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Dean said. “Tell us what happened.”

“You might as well come in,” the old man ordered. “I got cold beer and hot coffee, whatever suits.”

“I could go for a beer,” Dean replied.

The interior of the house was spartan, but clean and neat. There were a few photographs sprinkled about and the tables looked hand made, but well done, as if by an artisan. The wood was gnarled and twisted into artistic shapes. The fireplace was tiled in a mosaic of color reminiscent of a sunset. The windows were curtained with a lightweight linen that allowed the sun to brighten the room and the highly polished wood floor. A well used guitar and a banjo sat in a corner.

The kitchen was just beyond the large living space and looked equipped with very modern appliances. A small dining room sat just off the kitchen, and it, too, was plain, but neat and clean. A set of sturdy, polished steps made in oak led to the upstairs. 

Michael bought out a cold six-pack and then a carafe of coffee with cups, sugar and milk on a tray. He made one more trip for a plate of cookies and scones. “Homemade in case you’re interested.” He sat on his overstuffed couch and began speaking, letting the hunters serve themselves.

“I don’t know that you’ll believe me anymore than the cops did at the time. I spent years proving that I didn’t kill my girlfriend.”

“What was her name?” Cas asked.

“Holly. Holly Beckenfield. A pretty little thing, she was. She was very sweet and fun loving. I couldn’t imagine living my life without her, so I planned on marrying her once I got out of school. She was a nursing student, and very dedicated to her patients,” Michael remembered. “Last time I seen her, she was at the Hospital trying to help them poor souls that was left.”

“The Hospital closed in 1929, Mr. White. Who could she have possibly been helping?” Sam asked. The Hospital had loomed large in his research.

“We went missing in 1973, boy. It took me two years to get back and Holly was already so invested, she refused to come back with me. The year we landed in was 1935, and there were two dozen or so patients that had snuck back into the Hospital. Or so they said.”

“1935? How is that even possible?” Dean demanded.

“Damned if I know, boy. When I got back, only three weeks had passed and they’d given up on finding us. They tried to say I killed Holly, but they couldn’t find any evidence.” Michael related. “Even they’d found her body, it woulda been obvious that I couldn’t have possibly killed her.”

“Why not?” Sam questioned. 

“I figured if she’d died, her body would have been in such a state that it would’ve been obvious she’d been dead more than three fucking weeks,” Michael snapped. 

“And then you did… what?” Dean inquired.

“Bought this tract of land and did as much research as I could. Found out about hunters and been waitin’ ever since,” Michael said simply. “I make furniture, high end stuff, so money’s no problem.”

“Why did you stay, Mr. White?” Cas asked in a soft gruff tone.

“At first I thought Holly’d come back to me. And then, it just became my home,” Michael answered in an equally gruff manner.

“What do you think happened to Holly? “ Sam asked.

“She stayed and took care of the patients until she died,” Michael answered with little emotion and a clear certainty. “She was twenty when we went missing and that would make her over 100 years old at this point. I doubt she’s still alive. At least I doubted it until I heard about the Fineman’s.”

“How did you get back, Mr. White?” Dean inquired.

“I went out walking everyday, hoping to get home the same way we got there. One day I just walked back into the 1970’s,” he answered, seemingly still astonished after all these years. 

“Why did you think hunters would show up after the Woman in Black story,” Cas asked, his head tilted in curiosity. 

“I’m pretty convinced that were Holly. I think she found a way to get back, but not to her own time,” Michael confessed.

“What makes you think that, Mr. White,” Sam inquired.

“A gut feeling, boy. She needs something and I think she got old back there, but there’s something she needs in whatever year she’s in. She was always a fiery little thing and she’d fight for what she needed.”

"And you think she somehow made it to 2018?" Dean asked skeptically.

“Hell, boy, you don’t do much critical thinking, do you?” Michael said sarcastically. “We landed in 1935 and them kids that recently went missing said they landed in 1995. Who’s to say that Holly missed one of them fractures in time and landed in 2018?”

“We’ll figure it out, Mr. White,” Dean informed the older man, somewhat embarrassed by the insult, setting down his empty bottle of beer. “We’ll come back and tell you what happened. I think you deserve that.”

“Appreciate that, boys. One thing. Don’t hurt her if you can avoid it, and don’t bring her back. I don’t think she’d adjust real well. I loved her once and I don’t want her to suffer none, but I sure as hell don’t want to see what that place turned her into.”

“What do you mean _turned her into_?” Dean leaned forward and asked quietly.

“There was something wrong with that Hospital, son. Something terribly wrong. I could hear the screaming and crying all the time and it weren’t from Holly’s patients. It was like the Hospital was alive and … hungry,” White confessed. “Hungry for human souls and pain or something. I never spent a night under its roof in the two years I got stuck there. Holly was sucked right in though and she started to change…”

“Did it feel evil?” Sam wanted to know.

“Evil? Hell, yeah, evil as fuck, but even more desperate than evil, boy. It … changed the folks that spent a lot of time inside its walls. It sure as hell changed Holly,” Michael confessed.

“How, Mr. White? How did Holly change?” Sam inquired.

“She… she became harsh. After a month or so, there wasn’t one thing soft about her anymore. And her skin got pale as the moon. She also got mean; mean and bitter, like she was an eighty year old spinster instead of a twenty year old girl,” Michael recalled. “We ended up fighting a lot. She refused to leave the hospital and refused to try and get back home. I stopped asking after about a year. All I know was the last time I saw her; she was cold. A cold stranger that I no longer knew and didn’t want to know. And, she sure as shit didn’t want to know me.”

“Would you by any chance have a photo of Holly,” Sam wanted to know.

“Sure do,” he said rising. He walked to the fireplace mantle and gave Sam a faded photo of Holly. She was tiny and slender, with deep dark eyes and dark hair and an infectious smile. She looked nothing like the woman Michael had just described. “You can keep that, I’ve got others.”

“Thanks, Mr. White,” Dean replied as they began walking down the overgrown path. “We’ll be back, one way or another. You can count on it.”

~*~

The minute they were back in the car, Dean turned to Cas who was riding shotgun. “What do you know that you haven’t said?” 

The angel pursed his lips. “There are… fractures in Spacetime all over this planet and across the universe, Dean. It’s rare that people ever find them as they are generally very small and tend to move, and even rarer that they are found again, but it is possible,” Cas explained. 

“Do you think that’s what’s going on here?” Sam asked.

“Partly,” Cas said. “But it’s clear there’s something else happening in the location of Gray Stone Hospital. I don’t know that we’ll be able to find the fracture, but I can see them.”

“For Christ sake,” Dean muttered. “Why do we always get stuck with this kind of shit? Other hunters get nice and easy salt and burns, but not us,” he growled. 

“Most hunters don’t have an angel on their team, Dean,” Sam reminded him.

“What the fuck ever,” Dean said. “Let’s go talk to the easy part of the case.”

~*~

A few hours later, the Impala pulled up to the upscale condo. They were allowed upstairs to the Fineman’s apartment once they flipped their badges at the doorman. He did warn them that the Fineman’s had become odd over the last month, since the “incident.”

“What do you mean by odd,” Dean questioned.

“Well, they hardly go out, they now work at home, and they seem… paranoid.” The doorman gossiped.

“Thanks for letting us up,” Dean answered. “Sometimes people mistake things and get spooked,” he disclosed privately in a soft voice.

“Yeah, I get that that, but this couple got more than spooked. It’s like they both had psychotic breaks.”

Dean patted the man’s beefy shoulder. “You don’t need to worry. We’ll figure it out, we’re the FBI.”

The three men rode the elevator in silence to the third floor. The building was beautiful and upscale with plush carpeting and modern art hanging on the walls. There was a seating area with comfortable chairs and couches and two bookcases neatly filled with books overlooking the gardens. 

They found the Fineman’s apartment and rang the buzzer. 

A nervous woman’s voice asked, “Who’s there?”

Dean flipped his shield and said, “FBI, Mrs. Fineman.”

The door unlocked and a pale woman with dark, lank, greasy hair motioned them in. Her appearance was at odds with the tastefully and eloquently decorated apartment. Dean noticed that her lips and nails were bitten raw.

“You’re here about what happened in Allagash?” the woman asked.

“That’s right, Mrs. Fineman,” Sam said quietly. “May we call you Roberta?”

“Yeah, sure, I don’t give a shit what you call me as long as you don’t laugh at me,” Roberta answered.

“Would you mind telling us what happened? Sam asked.

“I don’t know what good it would do. The cops basically told us we were nuts and tested us for drunk driving and drugs,” she said snidely, focusing on Sam.

“That’s not what we’re here for,” Sam told her gently. “We investigate your sort of experience, and I promise we will believe whatever you say.”

“Okay, okay. I think I need to tell someone and Carl won’t let me talk to a shrink. But, I’ve got to get this out… it’s killing me,” Roberta disclosed. “I mean, look at me… I haven’t showered in days, the thought of putting on makeup and leaving this apartment makes me shake. And I still need to sleep with the lights on.”

“Just take it from the start and we’ll listen,” Sam said. “Is it okay if my colleagues take notes?”

“As long as they don’t call me crazy, ’cause I’m not,” she bit out.

“We don’t think you’re crazy, Ma’am,” Dean assured her.

“Okay, fine, what the fuck ever. So Carl and I are driving and it’s pouring. I mean really fucking pouring. We could barely see five feet in front of us and Carl asks me for a sandwich. I told him as long as he pulled over, he could eat his stupid sandwich,” Roberta began.

“You don’t drive, Mrs. Fineman?” Castiel interrupted.

“I just got my license, so no, I’ve never driven in that type of weather.”

“Continue, Mrs. Fineman,” Dean encouraged.

“Alright. So, the rain is pouring and we’re on the side of the road when this old lady starts banging on our window. She’s old, so neither one of us thought she’d be dangerous. Carl works with the elderly and I trusted him when he told me to open the back door for her. I opened the door and she crawls in.”

“What did she look like,” Castiel asked.

“Like death warmed over. She’s super skinny, frail I’d have said, and she had pure white hair plastered to her head. But her eyes—seemed off. They were sunken like she was sick and dark as night. Her eyes freaked me the fuck out. It was as if she were the walking dead. Like a zombie.” Roberta recalled with a shudder. “It was as though she wasn’t really seeing us, and they looked, I don’t know, maybe haunted, angry, crazy? Definitely desperate,” Roberta described.

“She’s dressed all in black. Sorta like the widows in Greece and Italy, but she’s pale. Like a glass of milk, like she’s dead. But, it was her eyes… They- - they fucking scared me, alright? I still see them in my nightmares. I don’t sleep all that much anymore,” Roberta said, weeping softly.

A tall, handsome man walked into the living room, anger clear on his face. He sat next to his wife and took her in his arms, rocking her slightly. “Why the fuck are you upsetting my wife,” he demanded. “Trust me, she’s been through enough.”

“We understand that Mr. Fineman. We weren’t trying to upset her, but it’s pretty goddamn evident that she needs to talk about what happened to the both of you,” Dean answered in a gruff voice that didn’t allow for any argument.

“Why the fuck should we talk to you when no one else believed us?” Carl asked, his voice harsh. 

“Because,” Dean replied, “we do believe you. Will you tell us what happened from your perspective?”

“Yeah, sure,” Carl answered snidely. “I made a mistake and let a lunatic into my car. My wife was forced to beat the holy hell out of her to keep her from killing me and the cops thought we were druggies.” 

“What were your impressions about the woman?” Sam asked.

“I guess I thought she had Alzheimer’s or a severe case of dementia,” Carl confessed. “I couldn’t think why she’d be out in that sort of weather otherwise. I was going to take her to the closest hospital to be honest. But, that was before she wrapped her hands around my throat.”

“Did her hands feel off to you?” Sam asked.

“Off?” Carl laughed. “You mean, did she feel dead or like a ghost?”

“It’s just a question,” Sam said mildly. 

“They felt like hands. A little cold and slippery because of the weather. She was… surprisingly strong though. I managed to stop the car, but it was Roberta who saved my life. Imagine that,” Carl snarked bitterly. “My beautiful woman had to save me because I made a dumb ass decision.” 

“You’re letting your ego get in the way here,” Sam told him bluntly. “Does it matter who saved who? Your wife loves you and if the situation had been reversed, you’d have saved her, right?”

“It rankles,” Carl admitted. 

“So you’re saying it would have been better if Roberta had been strangled?” Dean inquired.

“Of course not!” Carl shouted. “Oh.”

“Exactly,” Sam admonished him. “Listen, you both need to go see a therapist, get some meds if you need them, and get on with your lives. This was a very small incident in the scheme of things and you’re letting it eat away at you for no reason.”

Sam opened a folder and took of the photo of Holly. He handed it to the couple. “Did the woman you see bear _any_ resemblance to this woman?”

Roberta grabbed the photo and studied it closely for several minutes, turning it upside down and sideways. “I’m an artist,” she disclosed. “The shape of this woman’s face is exactly the same. Her chin and her size also match. Her eyes were darker, but that might have been because of the weather or the situation. The only differences I can see is the age and the nose. But our noses change as we age,” she murmured thoughtfully. “If I had to swear, I’d say this woman and the old lady were the same person.”

Carl glanced at the photo. “I never got a good look at her, so I have no idea. But, Roberta studies faces for a living.” 

Sam stood and Dean and Cas followed. He withdrew a card from his breast pocket. “If you can think of anything else that may be important, give me a call. We won’t be bothering you again,” Sam informed them.

“You won’t be able to tell us anything you discover, Agent?” Roberta pled.

“I think it’s for the best that you put this whole thing behind you,” Dean answered. “It’ll be better for you both and you really don’t need to know. Go get the help you need to live a good life and forget this shit ever happened,” Dean advised.

### Allagash

Deciding to leave the last interview for tomorrow, the hunters and their angel checked into a small motel. It was off season, so the prices were unexpectedly low and the room much cleaner than they were used to. 

The men discussed the questions they wanted to ask tomorrow’s interviews. They were most interested in the time travel aspect, and they had every intent of gaining access to the Hospital. It was clear to them all that the Hospital and Holly Beckenfield needed to be neutralized. They were all convinced that Holly had a hand in the missing hikers never returning. If Michael White and the couple they were going to see tomorrow could get back, it seemed reasonable that all the other hikers could have returned as well. The biggest issue they faced was the year they’d land in.

They discussed the subject until they were hungry. Using the thin phone book, they found a pizza place to deliver and ordered two pies before they hit the sack, tired but satisfied with the days work. 

~*~

Dean, Sam and Cas pulled up to a cottage on its way to shabby. It was typical of young people with little money first starting out at life. Dean knocked and a tall, slender blonde woman, her warm brown eyes haunted, answered the door. He flashed his fake ID and the woman looked relieved.

“Vera Abbot? Can we come in, Miss? We’d like to talk to you about what you experienced on your hike,” Dean explained.

“Sure, but I don’t know what more we have to tell you,” Vera gestured them into the small home. “No one believed us and told us we were mental. I’m pretty fucking upset that we weren’t treated like victims. Especially when you take our physical condition into account,” she said bitterly.

The three men sat on the well-padded large couch, while Vera sat in an overstuffed armchair. The home was clean with piles of books scattered here and there. The furniture was obviously not new, but it was clean and there had been a clear attempt of maintaining it.

“The Sheriff’s Office told us we’d obviously been lost for the two weeks and were confused because we hadn’t eaten or drank much water. They refused to listen to what actually happened to us,” Vera recalled.

“What did happen, Ms. Abbot?” Dean wanted to know.

“Hang on- - let me get Glen. He’s working on an engine in the backyard,” she insisted.

Vera came back within two minutes followed by a tall, burly man wiping his hands on an already dirty cloth. He took the time to wash up, before shaking hands with the three men on the couch. “I’ll just go put up a pot of coffee,” Vera announced.

“Played a little football in your time, Mr. Sherman?” Sam chuckled.

“A little. In high school. That was before I got interested in rebuilding engines; cars and small aircraft,” he laughed back. “Why is the FBI interested in what happened to us three months ago? No one was interested at the time.” 

“We believe your case is tied in to another one,” Dean explained smoothly. “Also, your file is a bit, shall we say, slim.”

“Slim,” Vera snickered as she brought in a coffee pot with cups, sugar, and milk. “Is that FBI speak for nonexistent?”

“Any idea why the search was discontinued after a week?’ Sam asked, ignoring Vera’s question.

“We’re new to this area. When we got back, a number of people came by and told us the best places to go hiking if we intended on hiking again,” Vera said, putting the coffee and cups on the small coffee table and gesturing to the men to help themselves. “They told us the entire town knew not to go to Gray Stone under any circumstances. Too bad they didn’t tell us before,” she said bitterly. “We weren’t the first to go missing along that path. Even the cops don’t go near there. I guess they thought we were gone for good.”

“So, when you got back, what exactly did the Sheriff’s Department do?” Dean inquired.

“Do?” Glen bit out. “They took us to the hospital and told us to be more careful. I tried to tell Connors what really happened, but he patted my arm like a child and told me lack of food and water can cause hallucinations. He didn’t do a fucking thing.” Glen stated baldly. “But don’t think for a second I didn’t see the fear on his face.”

“Fear?”

“Yes, fear,” Glen repeated, his eyes meeting Dean’s directly.

“Fear about what?” Dean wondered aloud.

“Fear about Gray Stone,” Glen answered immediately. “And, I can hardly blame him, but I do.”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning, Mr. Sherman?” Sam requested.

Glen sighed as he sat down in a second overstuffed chair. “Vera and I are in the process of starting a business. We’re both mechanics. We met at her father’s body shop,” Glen started. 

“Vera worked with her dad for years and I was always good with my hands, so I was hired right out of high school. We moved here because we’re pretty much in the middle of a dozen small airports. Mostly private and small passenger planes. There aren’t all that many people who can fix small aircraft engines,” he disclosed.

“So, the weekend we went missing was pretty normal. We both needed to get out of the house and away from the engines. We’d seen the path we ended up taking and it looked like an easy hike.”

Vera took a large gulp of her coffee, as if it was something she did frequently. “The path was fairly wide, so we didn’t think we’d hit any place that we’d have to struggle through. We were going to walk for an hour or so and then have the lunch I’d packed for us.”

“But…” Dean encouraged.

“We hit Gray Stone instead,” Glen said. “And the bitch who was running it. Dr. Beckenfield.”

“Dr. Beckenfield?” Sam asked incredulously.

“That’s what she said,” Vera replied. “But if she was a doctor, I’ll eat that fucking gorgeous Impala you got parked outside.”

“What did… Did she say anything? Do anything?” Sam demanded.

“Yeah,” Glen said. “She asked us what year it was. When we told her, she got pissed. She started screaming at us, insisting it was 1995. She wanted us to come in and said she’d help us with our delusions. She grabbed my wrist and while she might have been old, she was strong. She also had a full syringe of meds in her pocket. She pulled it out while she grabbed on to me…”

“Were you afraid of her?” Sam inquired.

“Yes and no,” Glen admitted. “I was pretty sure I could clean her clock, but there was something about her that was… off. Evil, maybe, desperate for something. Of course, the pile of bodies nearby didn’t help. Honestly, I wasn’t completely sure I could punch her out as big as I am. She was a little old lady, you know? I did push her away and she let go. And then, she laughed. Her laugh gave me the creeps. I still hear it in my nightmares. One thing for sure, she was crazier than a shithouse rat.”

“What’d she look like,” Dean asked quietly. 

“Old,” Vera replied immediately. “Old and bitter. Real skinny, I mean skinny to the point of emaciation. White hair and angry looking; her cheeks were flushed with it. It was easy to see as pale as she was. Her eyes looked dead, sort of like she had bad cataracts, but I could see how dark they were through the film. I see her eyes in my nightmares.”

Sam pulled the photo of a young Holly Beckenfield and handed it to Vera. “Do you think this is the woman you saw?”

Vera studied the photo and shuddered before passing it to Glen. “It’s possible, but I couldn’t say with any degree of certainty. What do you think, hon?”

“If I had to bet cash money, I’d say yeah, this is the same woman we saw. If I had to bet my freedom, I couldn’t be absolutely sure. But… yeah. I think they’re the same person. I was closer to that bitch than Vera was,” Glen stated.

“What happened after you pulled away from her?” Sam asked.

“We ran back down the path and didn’t stop running until we were about a half mile down the road,” Glen said. “At first we laughed about the whole thing. You know, being afraid of a little old lady and her crazy rant. We just wanted to get home, so we walked back without having our picnic.”

“Except our car wasn’t there,” Glen said. “And I didn’t see any car that passed that was later than a ’95. We tried to hitchhike, but the only person that stopped told us we were dressed too weird to get a ride in this part of the world.”

“I asked him what the year was,” Vera related. “He looked at us like we were crazy and told us it was 1995.”

“What’d you do then?” Dean asked.

“We went back up the path,” Glen stated. “We didn’t know what else to do at the moment. We pooled our money and had about six bucks listing the year as 1995 or earlier and Vera walked to the local grocery. She looked at every newspaper and they all said 1995, so she bought a large jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread and came back.”

“Why Vera and why peanut butter,” Sam asked, amusement clear in tone.

Glaring at Glen, Vera answered, “He was wearing his ‘Dump Trump’ tee shirt and we figured I’d be less likely to get into any kind of trouble. As far as the peanut butter, we knew we could survive on a tablespoon a day if we needed to. We also had our lunch, which wasn’t going to get us through more than two or three meals.”

“Then what? How’d you end up getting back?” Dean inquired.

“We walked the same path we went in every day until one day, the car was there,” Glen said simply. “By that time, we were filthy, starving, and thirsty. Neither one of us wanted to take the chance of going into town again. At least not alone. We figured we’d slipped through a hole in time. I’ve heard of such things, but didn’t really believe them until it happened to us.”

“And Sheriff Connors?” Castiel chimed in.

“He’s a patronizing waste of flesh,” Glen growled. “He took us to the hospital and pretended to write up a report. We told him exactly what happened and he smirked the entire time. But, like I already said, I could see the fear in that fucker’s eyes.”

“Any side effects or anything else weird going on,” Dean demanded.

“Just the nightmares,” Vera confided. “And those are starting to go away. But business is booming. It’s like the whole area is trying to make up for what happed to us. Even the Sheriff’s Department has us service their cars now.”

The two hunters and the angel stood. Dean spoke for them all. “If you can think of anything else that might be relevant, let us know,” he said giving them a business card. “If you need anything, call me,” Dean promised.

~*~

Once back in the Impala, Dean turned to Castiel. “We need to kill this bitch or at least find her body.”

“Agreed,” Cas said quietly.

“Okay,” Dean exclaimed. “Lets get a good night’s sleep and take care of things tomorrow.” 

~*~

The three men woke at dusk and quickly found the path. Over the years, the start of the path had widened making it look like a tempting and easy walk through the woods. One quarter of a mile in, things changed drastically; the path curved and trees began crowding in making the trail only large enough for one person at a time.

Baby had barely cleared the entrance when Castiel shouted, “Stop!”

Dean slammed on the brakes, even as Cas was opening the door. He stood for a long moment looking around.

“What are you seeing that we aren’t Cas?” Dean demanded.

“Fractures in time. They are all over. The one directly in front of us is quite large and leads to 1995. There are many others, but they aren’t big enough for a person to fit through any longer,” he informed the two hunters. “This one is stable, however. Very stable. At least for the moment. I’ve never seen one that wasn’t moving.”

“Well, that’s good for us. We can go and take care of Dr. Beckenfield and our job is done.”

“I think… I think this is going to be a bit more complicated that that, Dean,” Cas said quietly.

“Get back in the car, Cas. Complicated is my middle name,” Dean joked.

“Sure it is. And here I thought it was pie,” Sam joshed back.

They drove through the time fracture and didn’t feel a thing. “Seems strange not to even know you’ve travelled in time,” Sam observed.

“Gives me the creeps. Let’s take care of this bitch and get out of here,” Dean ordered.

Cas turned. “The fracture is still there, Dean. I don’t think you’ll have any problems when you return.” 

“Good, the last fucking thing I want is to get stuck in 1995,” Dean said, drumming his hands on the steering wheel.

They drove Baby as far in as they could and Dean managed a K-turn. He didn’t know what he was going to find and he wanted to leave as quickly as possible once the job was done.

The men packed all the tools they thought they could possibly need, armed themselves, and hiked up the road, Dean grousing the entire way. When they got their first look at Gray Stone, the stopped at stared. “Holy shit! That’s one big ass building,” Dean exclaimed. “Who the fuck thought it would be a good idea to stick such a big building in the middle of nowhere?”

“Do you feel it?’ Sam asked quietly.

“Yes,” Cas answered immediately, followed quickly by Dean’s “Yeah.”

The Hospital radiated evil and desperation. It was off putting to say the least. Dean couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to get closer to it than they already were. He figured you’d have to be more scared of something else and in pretty dire straights to approach any closer.

While they stood staring, an elderly woman began to walk toward them, muttering to herself. They waited for her wanting to see what see would do. The descriptions they’d been given were spot on. She approached Dean and she suddenly had a syringe in her hand, aiming for his arm.

He sidestepped her lunge, grabbing her arm until the syringe dropped. “What the fuck, lady?”

“It was just something to calm you down. Most of my patients are rather agitated when they first get here,” she explained, a sly look on her face.

“We’ll go with you,” Sam said. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Dr. Beckenfield. I’m in charge of Gray Stone.”

“Holly? Holly Beckenfield?”

“Where’d you hear that name? It’s just Doctor or Dr. Beckenfield.” 

“We talked to Michael. Michael White, Holly. Do you remember him?”

She turned to look at Sam, who had been trying to reach her. “Michael died. Two years after we got here. He abandoned me and refused to help me with my patients.”

“No, Holly. He found his way home. He wanted you to go home with him. He’s never forgotten you.”

Her demeanor changed. Anger replaced the sly look and she screeched. “I told you not to call me by that fucking name. Holly is dead. I killed her a long time ago. She was a weak, stupid girl. Michael never understood, never got that the Hospital needed me, needed us!”

Sam and Dean shared a glace. They’d dealt with crazy people before and they were always the most difficult creatures they dealt with. They were good with vamps, werewolves and the like, but there was something else going on here and Dean hated when things weren’t simple.

The smell of death hit them long before they reached the side door Holly used to enter and leave the building. The gate surrounding Gray Stone near the door had rusted into the Earth and there was a gap that made it easy to come and go. As they approached the door, a pile of bones and bodies lay in various states of decay thirty feet from the entrance.

“I need help burying them. I tried last month, but the couple refused to help me and threw me out of their car. Bastards. Anderson helped me bury all the others, but when his wife died, he committed suicide,” she said, pointing at the top body.

“That would be George Anderson and his wife Beth?’ Sam asked.

“Yes. How did you know that?” she demanded in a harsh voice.

“He and his wife went missing years ago,” Sam answered.

“No they didn’t,” Holly replied. They were ill and Gray Stone helped them.”

“Sure it did,” Dean said with anger.

Brushing past the old woman, the three men entered the building. The room they entered was cold, and could have been cozy if one had had taken proper care of the space. It was a huge eat-in kitchen, with several tables scattered about, all of them covered in bright tablecloths, a garish counterpoint to the dim light streaming through the filthy windows. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes and the men could feel the crunch of broken glass under their feet.

The floor was streaked with what could only be dried blood and there were bowls filled with used syringes and stiff, cracked rubber tourniquets. Packets of yellow brown powder lied about here and there. Dirty clothes were piled in the corners and Dean would swear to his dying day that he saw nests of rodents burrowed in among the clothes. The stove was greasy and thickly caked with previous meals.

There were two doors leading out of the kitchen and the men split up, Cas staying with Holly. He began questioning her, asking for the medical records she had kept. He treated her like the doctor she claimed to be. 

Like a small child, Holly proudly handed the records to Castiel. He opened the book and scanned the names, recognizing the six hikers who’d been lost for good, noting their dates of arrival along with their dates of death. “What did you mean when you said the Hospital needed you, Doctor?”

“Can’t you feel it?” she asked, shock drawn large on her face.

“I feel… that the building needs people to feed off of.”

“Yes! Exactly. The Hospital needs us. It needs to take care of the sick. It’s what it was made for,” Holly explained.

“This building is evil,” Cas said bluntly. “It uses those that are weak and susceptible. You forsook your lover for the evil that this building instilled within you.”

“No. No, that’s not true. He left me. He refused to help me. He…”

“He came to you day after day to ask you to leave with him,” Castiel ground out. “You turned him away time and again, Doctor. You abandoned him for this building. I can feel the misery and the horror that happened here. It latched on to you and you let it. You didn’t even fight!”

Holly collapsed into a weeping pile at Castiel’s feet. “You don’t understand. I couldn’t fight it. I had no choice.”

“You had Michael, but you didn’t love him enough to fight for that love.” Cas spat at her. “You were selfish and self centered. I see everything thing that you were and that you are. Don’t look to me for sympathy, doctor, you won’t get it.” 

“You don’t understand,” she shouted.

“I understand perfectly, Holly Beckenfield.” 

~*~

The door that Sam went through led to the cells people were kept in. Each door was had locks on the outside. He went into a few of the rooms and wasn’t all that shocked to see bars on the windows. There was no escape from Gray Stone, none. Each room was exactly the same. A bed, pillows, a sink, and a toilet; nothing more. There were no closets and no hooks or anything of the kind to hang clothing.

Sam pressed down on one of the beds and the thin material ripped as coarse dust flew out. He got the same reaction from the pillows. He went to room after room until he found several rooms in a row that seemed to have been occupied in the recent past. There were clothes neatly folded upon the several chairs in the rooms, and the beds were made up with sheets and blankets. He tried the bars on each window and despite the rust of the outside gates, these bars were strong and sturdy. He found more than two dozen rooms in the same condition and shuddered in horror thinking about how many people the Hospital had housed over the years Holly had been in charge.

~*~

The door that Dean went through led to the medical rooms. He found large roundish tubs that closed with a space that appeared to close around the patient’s neck. He found beds with straps next to machinery that was obviously used for electric shock therapy. He was surprised that the straps and wires were all in tip top shape. There was a room with bathtubs covered with rubber that was crumbling. And in a number of cabinets and drawers, he found packets and bottles of drugs, along with dozens and dozens of old fashioned glass syringes. . He suspected the packets were heroin and the bottles were various different tranquillizers despite that the writing had faded into labels that were unreadable. He had a feeling that the drugs were all still good, no matter their age.

He stuffed his pockets with as many drugs as he could find. He wasn’t about to give that bitch a chance to drug him or his brother. He continued to look around and found several large garbage cans filled with used syringes. Years and years worth of syringes. How Holly had managed to keep her “patients’ was becoming very clear to Dean. He wondered how many people never reported missing got caught up in the evil of the Hospital and Holly’s obsession with playing doctor. He didn’t know if she was always such a bitch or if the Hospital made her that way. Michael’s description of a sweet, fun loving girl didn’t synch with what he was seeing. He supposed a man in love could overlook a lot of faults.

~*~

Sam and Dean met back in the filthy kitchen. Cas handed Sam the records holly had given to him. He scanned them quickly. “Holy shit. This bitch kept all these people prisoners,” he said heatedly.

Holly was still on the floor, but she’d pulled herself together. “Are you going to help me?” she begged in a girlish voice that sounded bizarre coming from such an old woman.

“Help you do what?” Dean demanded. “Get more prisoners for you to play doctor with?”

“No, no. I want my patients to have a decent burial. George wasn’t strong enough anymore,” she informed them.

“Yeah, sure, we’ll give them all hunter funerals,” Dean told her, scorn filling his voice and face.

Holly clapped her hands. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I’m going to go rest now, while you attend to the burials.”

“Whatever. Just don’t go far. And if you come near any of us with your drugs, I’ll snap your neck,” Dean said with a smirk. It was obvious to anyone who knew him that he was completely serious.

They watched as Holly went through the same door Sam had gone through earlier. As soon as she was gone, Sam turned to his brother, “Salt and burn? he asked.

“It would be the easiest way,” Dean replied.

“What are we going to do with Holly?” Cas asked.

“I’m tempted to leave her here to wallow in her misery, but I guess we’ll take her to the nearest hospital.”

~*~

The hunters took an hour to make sure the bodies would be completely burned. They hadn’t bothered moving any of them. Castiel stood by watching silently. 

Reentering the Hospital, they took a last look around. “Go and find that bitch, Sammy,” Dean ordered.

Sam’s long stride took him through the door. He was anxious to leave this place of evil and misery. He found Holly in the last room. He hadn’t explored this room previously. It was three times as large as the others and contained a number of pieces of furniture. Holly lay on the bed, a serene smile on her face, the syringe still sticking out of her arm. He touched her and she was already cooling.

Loath to touch her bare skin again, he wrapped her in the sheet she was lying upon and carried her back to the kitchen. She felt like a bundle of sticks.

“Seriously?” Dean inquired.

“Drug overdose. She still had the needle sticking out of her arm,” Sam answered. “I’m just going to go put her on top of the other bodies,”

The fire was still going, but Dean didn’t trust Holly not to find a way back, so he threw more salt on her and added more gas to ensure she and her bones were burned into nothing but ash.

~*~

The men returned to Baby, all of them anxious to leave these woods and the year 1995. As they approached the fracture, Dean stopped the car. “Are we good to go, Cas?”

“Shift about two inches to the left, Dean,” he relied. “The fracture has moved slightly during the time we were taking care of business.”

Dean did so, and roared into and then out of the fracture. “Did we make it?” he demanded.

“Yes, Dean. We are back in our own time and only three days have passed,” Cas informed him.

“Three days? Are you sure, Cas? I thought we were there for only several hours.”

“Time works differently through the rifts,” Cas said gravely. “Be happy it was only days and not years.”

“Well, since we haven’t eaten in three days, let’s go shower and I’ll treat you a burger with the works,” Dean winked at Cas. “I’m sure we can find a nice big salad for Samantha.”

Sam sighed. “Just because I care about what goes into my body doesn’t make me a girl, Dean.”

“Whatever you say, Sammy, whatever you say,” he said laughing.

~*~

The next day, Dean, Cas, and Sam went to visit Michael White. They’d already decided not to tell him the entire truth. They would tell him just enough to ease his mind.

Castiel once again transported them within walking distance of the house. It was quiet enough that the men could hear the slight breeze rustling the dried up bushes.

Dean took the steps and knocked enthusiastically on the door, which opened, under his barrage. “Michael,” he called out. “We’re back with news.”

When there was no answer, Dean pulled his gun and entered the house looking for anything dangerous. The only thing he saw was Michael lying on the couch, dead.

“Oh, fuck me! That bitch had one last fucking victim,” he snarled, pushing past Sam and Cas to stomp around on the porch.

Sam and Cas entered the home and confirmed what Dean already knew. Michael looked serene, however, like he’d lied down to take a nap and just hadn’t awoken.

### Epilogue

Dean, Sam and Cas went to report the death of Michael White. They wanted to see him properly buried and if anyone knew if he had family, it would be the Sheriff’s Office.

Sheriff Joshua Connors took the information, sent out his two deputies leaving the office empty. He promised to call the Coroner’s office as soon as his men returned, verifying the death. Looking over the three men, Connors nodded to himself as if making a decision. Before he could act on his decision, Sam began questioning him.

“Why didn’t you tell us you had a relative that disappeared?” Sam asked.

“I was a kid when it happened. My family has lived here for generations. We knew if he made it to the Hospital, he and his wife were probably dead. There’s always been weird stories about that Hospital. The Sheriff at the time told my family to just forget about it. So we did.”

“Do you even know how many people went missing?” Dean questioned.

“We only know about the people who were reported. God knows how many weren’t,” the Sheriff admitted.

“I had a look at the records in the Hospital. There were three dozen more people listed than just the ones reported,” Sam said heatedly. “And we have no idea how many people were there before the person who took charge began keeping records. A person so vicious that she got those lost hikers addicted to all sorts of drugs and fucking kept them so she could play doctor.”

“I—I don’t know what to say. I’ve done things they way they’ve always been done around here, but I think I have a way to make it up. At least a little. Would you take a walk with me?” the Sheriff asked.

Puzzled, the three men followed the stocky man outside the small station as he led them out back to a small prefab shed.

Running his hands through short-cropped hair, and looking sheepish, he opened the door to the shed. “After 9/11, every Police station and Sheriff’s office got a shipment from the US government. Some of it was useless to say the least. Obviously, the big city cops got the best stuff.”

“What’d you get?” Dean asked.

“We got some semiautomatic rifles, plastic cuffs, some recording equipment, this shed, and 150 pounds of C-4. I logged in everything except the C-4,” Joshua confessed. “And then I hid it. This little shed is off limits to all my men and I’ve got the only key. Sometimes I come out here after my shift and have a beer to decompress. I don’t like bringing the job home to the wife and kids."

“That’s understandable, Sheriff, but what’s that got to do with us?” Dean inquired.

“I want to give you boys the C-4 and I want you to blow the shit out of Gray Stone,” he said bluntly. “I’ve been thinking about doing it myself for years, but I can’t take the chance. I promised my wife I’d come home to her every night since the day I married her.”

Dean tossed his keys to Sam. “Back the car up here, Sammy.”

“Wait, you can’t be serious, Dean!” Sam shouted.

“As a heart attack. Michael was right. That place is just plain old evil and we’re going to get rid of it. That’s what we do,” Dean said softly.

“But, it’ll still exist in the past, Dean,” Cas noted quietly.

“That’s why Sheriff Connors here is going to be posting Beware of Bears signs, right, Sheriff?”

“Yeah, that’ll work. Most folks that grew up around here don’t go anywhere near the path that leads to Gray Stone. The signs will keep out the tourists.”

“That’s what I thought,’ Dean smirked as he began to load the C-4 and the detonators.

“That Hospital is huge. I don’t know if this will be enough C-4.” Sam complained.

“It will be enough, Sam,” Cas reassured the younger man.

“I got a couple of last questions for you boys. Are all the missing hikers dead? And did Michael White and those kids really travel in time?”

“Yes, Sheriff, all the missing hikers are dead,” Sam started. “As for the rest of it, how about you just keep wondering? Some things will give you nightmares for the rest of your life. It seems like you’ve got a nice family. Just go home to them and let people like us worry,” Sam told the Sheriff gently.

Joshua looked ready to fight and then all his bluster was gone. “That’s some good advice,” he noted as Dean slammed the trunk of the Impala shut.

~*~

They drove the Impala as close as they could get. The fracture they’d driven through the last time had nearly closed and Castiel could see no others that would impede their way. Once inside the now deserted Hospital, Castiel directed the placement of the C-4 so the building would implode without a fire. He ordered Dean and Sam back to the car and told them to drive a few miles up the road while he took care of blowing the building.

Ten minutes later, Cas reappeared in the car and 30 seconds after that a muffled explosion could be heard. A plume of smoke rose above the trees and dissipated quickly.

“Home?” Dean asked.

Cas and Sam echoed “Home,” as the Impala sped through the empty dark road. 

The End


End file.
